


love is a letter wrote.

by babblekween



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Pre Island, Endgame Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak, F/M, Oliver and Felicity become Pen Pals, mostly happy until canon makes it sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-14 10:01:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14133750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babblekween/pseuds/babblekween
Summary: Oliver Queen and Felicity Smoak become Pen Pals.





	love is a letter wrote.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thatmasquedgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatmasquedgirl/gifts).



Oliver’s eighteen and failing all of his courses and in danger of not being able to graduate on time when Mr. Humphrey, his creative writing teacher, suggests that he participates in a pen pal program for extra credit.

It’s stupid and he doesn’t want to do it, doesn’t want to write to some _stranger_ or whatever, but his mother insists and his father lectures and even Laurel (she’s been his girlfriend since they were sixteen and she’s always been superior about grades and school and studying, always nagging him to take things more _seriously)_ sighs and gives him a disapproving look when he complains about how unfair it all is. 

“It sounds like Mr. Humphrey is being completely reasonable, Ollie.” Laurel dismisses with a shrug while they’re sitting at their usual picnic table in the courtyard, her expression borderline _disappointed_ when she looks up from editing Tommy’s essay for English Literature. “At least he’s giving you an opportunity to pull your grades up,” She points out, wrapping her hand around his and giving him a gentle smile.

Oliver sighs, frustrated, pulling away from her.

“ _Ollie_ ,” Laurel sighs, annoyed and concerned all at once.

Oliver fills out the form halfheartedly and then weeks go by and he’s almost forgotten all about the pen pal program when the first letter arrives on a Wednesday.

Raisa (she’s been part of the house staff since before he can remember, but to him she’s always been more of a mother-figure, always there with a warm smile and a tight hug while his mother’s busy with this or that and his father is at Queen Consolidated) knocks on his door before she enters his bedroom. “Wonders never cease, Mister Oliver,” Raisa teases fondly when she finds him sitting at his desk, frowning down at his history textbook. “It’s not like you to read a book,” She adds.

Oliver scoffs, screwing up his face, but the denial doesn’t last long and his expressions morphs into one of _adoration_ when he moves to take the tray away from Raisa. “Thank you, Raisa,” He says and then leans in to kiss her cheek when he realizes she’s made his favorite snack; hot cocoa and a Monte Cristo sandwich made with waffles. “What’s this?” He asks when he notices the pale pink envelope perched against his hot cocoa.

Raisa doesn’t bother to hide her smile. “A letter than came for you today,” She tilts her head, smiling at him affectionately. “Maybe Mister Oliver has a secret admirer?”

Oliver makes the face that he makes whenever she says something totally embarrassing and moves to place the tray on his desk before he fiddles with the envelope, and he knows Raisa’s curious, but she doesn’t say anything as he opens the letter. He’s amused to find that the letter itself is also written on equally pink stationary. The handwriting is loopy and a little messy, but Oliver finds himself smiling a little as he reads.

_Dear Oliver,_

_Hello! My name is Felicity Smoak and I ~~have been paired with you~~ have been assigned as your pen pal. Admittedly, I have no idea how to do this because I’m more of an instant messaging person, not a write-a-letter-by-hand person because this isn’t the Dark Ages. _

_I should tell you about myself. I’m a junior in high school and hope to attend MIT, and I intend to own my own technology company someday. I live in Las Vegas, I love vanilla milkshakes, and building computers. It’s dorky, I know, but I’ve always loved taking apart broken old computers and putting different pieces together to see if I can get them to work._

_Your form said you’re a senior and you run track and enjoy cooking. What do you consider cooking? Popping a pizza pocket in the microwave or actual cook-cooking? I ~~’m pretty sure my mother and I can both burn my water and I think the Department of Health wants to declare our kitchen a toxic wasteland after the Frittata Fiasco of ‘99.~~ Ignore that. Sorry. _

_I look forward to hearing from you!_

_~~With love,~~ _

_~~Best wishes,~~ _

_Sincerely,_

_Felicity Smoak_

_(P.S., sorry about the pink stationary, like I mentioned I’m not a write-a-letter-by-hand person and I had to use my mother’s. And she’s, well, my mother.)_

Oliver stares at the letter for quite some time, the corners of his mouth quirked into a small smile. She seems sweet, and he shakes his head when he focuses on the words that have been crossed out multiple times. He re-reads the letter twice, then his little sister is there asking him to read her to bed, and he tucks the pink stationary back into the pink envelope before reading two chapters of _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_ to Thea.

He doesn’t write back to Felicity, because he doesn’t really know what to say, but a week later he receives another letter. Felicity talks about the latest movie she’s seen (it’s called King of the Ring or something and he decides to look it up later because it sounds kind of cool), her classes (instead of taking home economics like her mother wanted, Felicity’s taking shop class and her classmates have seemed to warm up to her since she helped them get their engine to work) and she finishes with _I look forward to hearing from you, Oliver. Unless I’ve been sending these letters to the wrong person and you’re not Oliver, in which case I’m sorry for the awkward, Not-Oliver._

Oliver snorts in amusement.

He discovers he really _wants_ to write her back.

Oliver doesn’t know what to say, but he tries anyway.

_Dear Felicity,_

_I’m pleased to inform you that you have been sending the letters to an Oliver. Building computers sounds cool. My dad is a pilot and does all of his own maintenance and sometimes I help him. Aside from actual cook-cooking, it’s probably one of the few things I’m actually good at. I’ve always enjoyed being in the kitchen. When I was a kid, I used to do my homework in the kitchen while Raisa cooked. She always hums or sings show-tunes while she cooks. One day she asked if I wanted to help when she was making sugar cookies and it’s been our thing ever since. Thankfully the Health Department hasn’t declared her kitchen a toxic dump yet._

_Sincerely,_

_Oliver_

Oliver stares at the letter, his brow furrowed because he doesn’t normally talk about those things, with anyone, not even Laurel or Tommy, but he sighs up and decides to mail the letter anyway. He doesn’t know Felicity, not really, and what does it matter if she makes fun of him? It’s not like they’re friends. Extra credit is the only reason he’s writing her.

But when another letter comes two weeks later, he eagerly tears open the pink envelope.

_Dear Oliver,_

_Ha, ha. You mock, but I could tell you stories. My mother’s thrilled that you wrote me back, by the way, because she thinks I need more friends. Not that I think you’re my friend, we barely know each other, obviously. It’s just I’ve never really had anything in common with my peers and I’ve never had many friends, at least not until I joined the mathletes, but even now I don’t have anyone that I would consider a close friend. What about you? Who’s your best friend?_

_Sincerely,_

_Felicity_

Oliver taps his pen distractedly against his notebook, but once the words start flowing, they don’t stop. He writes Felicity back and tells her all about Tommy Merlyn, his best friend in life. He tells her that they’ve been best friends since that first day they sat beside each other during story time in kindergarten; he tells her about all of the trouble they have gotten into over the years; then he tells Felicity that, growing up, Tommy was the closest thing he had to a sibling, at least until his little sister was born.

 _Her name’s Thea_ , he writes her, _She’s ten years younger than me and worships the ground I walk on. I kind of like that, you know? Even if I screw up at everything else, I know I’m a good big brother. She’s all arms and legs, never sits still. She’s always chasing me all over the place. I call her Speedy._

Over the next few months he continues to exchange letters with Felicity, each one longer than the one before, and he tells her more about his family in his letters, about Laurel, about college and how he feels his entire life is already planned for him. Ivy League, then taking his rightful place at Queen Consolidated.

Oliver graduates from high school and to celebrate he spends two weeks with his family in the South of France, and when he comes home there are two letters waiting for him from Felicity. Instead of unpacking, Oliver sprawls out on his bed, tearing open the first envelope.

Thea, always at his heels, walks into his bedroom with knocking and hops on the bed beside him. “Who are the letters from?” Thea asks then, before he can answer, she gives him the most disbelieving look Oliver has ever seen and it has him cracking up when she says mildly disgusted, “Why are the envelopes _pink_?” His little sister abhors the color; he blames it on his Grandma Dearden and her insistence on dressing Thea in the color as a small child.

“They’re from my pen pal,” Oliver says.

“Your pen pal?” Thea asks, hiking her brows.

“I signed up for a pen pal program as a part of my creative writing class,” Oliver answers and his face breaks out into a boyish grin when he realizes that one of the envelopes contains a card congratulating him on graduating. “This girl writes me,” He adds and his heart gives a troubling thump when he sees a note written at the bottom of the card written in Felicity’s messy scrawl.

_I never doubted for a minute, Oliver! Not bad for someone that got a D in 10th-grade Algebra._

“A _girl_ , huh?” Thea grins, eyes lighting up like he’s just handed her the means to mock him for the rest of the summer, but Oliver ignores her, opening the second envelope. “Does _this girl_ have a name, Ollie?” His sister pesters, poking him in the side.

“Felicity,” He clicks his tongue then adds, almost bashful, “She’s my friend,” Oliver grins and he starts to form a response in his head as he reads the two dozen questions Felicity asks in the second letter. He likes that everyone time she writes him, Felicity writes him more and more. Felicity asks him about his vacation and then talks about how jealous she is that he went to France because she’s spending her summer working at Tech Village. _It’s an exercise in misery, Oliver,_ she writes, _I feel like I’m in Hell. And I don’t even generally believe in Hell, but for Tech Village I’m willing to make an exception_.

“Right,” Thea huffs, clearly not believing him, but then she hops off his bed and starts making her way towards the door. “Let me know when she becomes more than a friend,” She sing-songs.

In the letter Felicity’s moved on to describing her mother’s latest antics, defending her habit of changing the color of her nails every night so that it matches the next day’s outfit, and then Oliver lingers on the one paragraph where she says that she hopes he knows he doesn’t have to accept his life and major in business just because it’s expected of him.

The night before he leaves for Princeton, he reads that letter yet again.

The next few months pass with longer and longer letters and, even after they exchange emails, the letters continue. Felicity sends him a care package for his nineteenth birthday and he laughs when he notices that she’s sent him a batch of sugar cookies like he used to make with Raisa. She can bake, she defends in the letter, because it’s chemistry, and she’s good at chemistry, and then she admits that a part of her expected the letters to stop once he graduated from Blumebury Prep.

 _I really like talking to you,_ he writes in response.

 _I really like talking to you, too,_ Felicity writes back.

Felicity starts attending MIT and Oliver drops out of Princeton. Laurel tells him it’s time for him to grow up and start taking things _seriously_ , his parents are _disappointed_ but it’s okay because they’ve arranged for him to attend Brown University, but the disappointment his loved ones feel is noticeably absent in Felicity’s next letter and Oliver couldn’t be more thankful.

In the letter, he finds understanding because Felicity just really _gets_ him, and it feels good to tell her stuff.

Felicity tells him about the chasm that’s opened between her and her mother since she started at MIT (the only thing mother and daughter have in common is how much they love each other, but Donna _scolds_ her daughter for hiding behind a computer screen, not realizing that her daughter’s simply found what makes her happy) and in return Oliver tells Felicity that he loves Laurel, but he’s not sure if they have a future together.

 _Laurel has all of these plans and big dreams for our future_ , he writes and he tells her all about Laurel’s ten year plan: she’ll finish pre-law, then attend law school while he earns his MBA, they’ll live together for a year, engaged for another, then she’ll become Mrs. Laurel Queen while he takes over as the CEO of Queen Consolidated. _She has plans to be the district attorney someday and I feel like I’ll only hold her back,_ Oliver adds, _but how do you tell someone you love that you don’t want the same things as them?_

He lasts three semesters at Brown, two at Cornell, then his parents and Laurel all decide that maybe it’s best he attends University in Starling City, where he will be close to home and those that love him and where they can  _keep him on the right track_. Felicity reminds him once more that life is precious and it’s  _his_ decision what he does with it, and she sends him pamphlets about various culinary schools, and he stares at them for quite some time before he tosses them into the trash.

Felicity’s next letter comes only a few days later. Obviously upset, Felicity sends him a long, rambling letter with handwriting that’s even sloppier than usual. She apologizes for sending him the pamphlets, says that it was a dick move, to pressure him after telling him that it was _his_ decision what he does and that she hopes he can forgive her.

He reads the letter a few times, then writes three drafts before he responds.

_Dear Felicity,_

_There’s nothing to forgive. You were right when you said that life is precious. How could I ever be angry with you for wanting more for me? My entire life, it’s been assumed that I would take over for my father at Queen Consolidated. I’d go to college and get my MBA and then get a job at QC, something with an office, and it would be placeholder until my dad is ready to retire. I’d ask Laurel to marry me, because we’ve been together forever and its what people expect, and I’d have an affair with an intern or my secretary, and Laurel would ignore it like she’s done since we were teenagers._

_You want more than that for me, Felicity._

_Thank you for that._

_With love,_

_Oliver_

He quickly learns that his loved ones were wrong, being home is the worst thing for him, and he starts to buckle under the pressure of their expectations. Oliver spends more time at the bar than ever before. He drinks too much, he cheats on Laurel with women he can’t remember the name of, and she forgives him every time he screws up because, “You like to play the bad boy but I know you in my bones,” Laurel tells him, curled up against his side, “I know you like I know my own name. This isn’t who you are, Ollie.”

Oliver feels guilt, hot and thick, settle in the back of his throat and he resolves to be the man that Laurel, that _Felicity_ , believes him to be but he fails at that like he fails at everything else when he receives a call from Samantha Clayton. She’s pregnant, she tells him, and his entire world crumbles around him. Oliver tells his mother, but then Samantha loses the baby and moves to Central City, and Oliver’s tears carve paths down his cheeks as he pens a letter to Felicity.

He checks the mail every day for a letter from Felicity, and he doesn’t have to wait long.

_Oliver,_

_I’m so sorry._

_For you, for Samantha, and your baby._

_I’m also so unbelievably sorry that you think this is somehow your fault. You didn’t think you were ready to be a father and that’s okay. These things happen, and it wasn’t because of anything you did. And remember that you can mourn for the baby, too. Never mind how everything turned out, the baby was yours and it’s okay to be sad. But don’t ever think this tragedy was your fault. You can write me anytime._

_Love,_

_Felicity_

Oliver cries when he reads her letter. He cries for himself, he cries for Samantha, and he cries for their baby because they never really got to live. He cries for a little boy with his eyes and Samantha’s wide smile. He cries for a little girl with his nose and the patented Queen Stubbornness.

Another few months pass.

He stills exchanges letters with Felicity, but then Laurel starts pressuring him, starts hinting that it’s time for the two of them to take the next step in their relationship and get an apartment. Whenever she brings it up, he distracts her with wine and sex.

Laurel’s stretched out his bed one night, reading from her LSAT prep books, but he knows from the thoughtful expression on her face when she looks at him that she’s gearing up for another attempt at convincing him that they should get an apartment together. He takes preventative measures and offers to order a pizza, claims that she needs fuel if she’s going to study. But, after paying the delivery man and grabbing a bottle of red wine from his father’s collection, he returns to his room to find Laurel sitting cross-legged on the floor with hundreds of envelopes scattered around her.

“Laurel…” He says softly.

“I was looking for a highlighter,” Laurel says, dazed, “I found these in your desk.”

“I can explain,” He continues as he rubs his hands over his face, sighing.

She shakes her head, blinking against the tears that are quick to collect.

Oliver falls silent and the two of them stay there for a few long seconds, still and silent, and when she looks up at him there’s a quiet desperation in Laurel’s eyes that he’s never seen before. “All this time,” Laurel drops her hand, and he can see her eyes tearing up. “All this time I thought we were just on a different page,” She murmurs, “But we weren’t even reading the same book.”

“Laurel,” Oliver protests, “They’re just _letters_.”

Laurel holds up a hand to silence him. “These are more than just letters, Ollie,” Her eyes glimmer with tears, but she keeps her gaze steady on his and he can see her heart breaking. “She knows more about you than I do.”

He looks down at one of the envelopes in her white-knuckled hands. “Laurel, that’s not true,” Oliver protests but it sounds hollow even to his ears.

His words are a bold-faced lie and, based on her expression, Laurel knows that too. “Ollie, I _learned_ things about you by reading these letters,” he’s poured his heart out to Felicity in those letters; told her things he has never shared with another soul. He’s told her about his insecurities, about his dreams, about how sometimes he wishes he’d been born into a normal family with normal expectations. “How do you think that makes me feel?” Laurel demands thickly, her lips trembling. “We’ve been together since we were _sixteen_. We… we had a _plan_ , Ollie.”

“No, Laurel,” Oliver murmurs, defeated, suddenly feeling incredibly tired, “ _You_ had a plan.”

There’s a long, tense moment before she asks, “Did you ever even love me, Oliver?”

 _Oliver,_ not _Ollie._

His heart cracks, an open fault line.

“I’ll always love you, Laurel,” Oliver says, honest. “I’ll always care about you.”

“ _Don’t_.” She waves a finger at him, sneering. “Don’t you  _lie_  to me.”

“I’m not lying, Laurel!” Shaking his head, Oliver blows out a heavy breath. “You… You’ve been a huge part of my life.”

“Right… Just not the _biggest_ part.” Laurel’s voice is shaking when she swipes at her tears, her mouth trembling. “Because even though _I_ loved you, even though _I_ was there for you, even though I planned out our whole fucking life together, _I’m_ not the one you love.” He winces, and she laughs emptily. “That’s it, isn’t it, Ollie? You love _her_.”

Oliver avoids her eyes, but she won’t have it.

“Don’t lie, Ollie.” Laurel’s voice is shaking. “Not now.”

Mouth folded, Oliver looks over at Laurel, practically vibrating in her anger and barely holding back the tears in her eyes, but something must show in his expression because she lets out a scoffing breath, shaking her head in disbelief. “ _Screw you, Oliver_ ,” Laurel snarls through gritted teeth, storming past him, slamming his bedroom door behind her as she goes.

Oliver sinks back down onto the mattress, covers his face with his hands, and as horrible as this might be, he feels like he can breathe easily for the first time in years, almost as if a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. He loves Laurel, he’s pretty sure he always will, but he knows she isn’t the love of his life. His parents are shocked when they find out about the break-up, but Oliver doesn’t really know what to tell them, but then he pours out his thoughts in another letter to Felicity. He goes out for beers with Tommy that night, tells him everything that happened with the letters and with Laurel, and he feels better than he has in a long time.

Another few weeks pass, and nothing much at all happens.

He still exchanges letters with Felicity, but then she sends another pamphlet.

It’s for a culinary school located in Starling City, and he takes the time to read this one, and on the last page he finds a post-it with a note written in Felicity’s messy scrawl. _Life is precious_ , it says, _and you deserve so much more from yours._

Oliver mulls over that for almost a week before he goes to his parents. He’s dropped out of his fourth college in as many years, but he talks and talks and talks, his parents _listen_ , and in the end his father nods. “Next week I’m making a trip to China and I want you to go with me…” Robert raises his eyes to meet Oliver’s. “You’ve never really tried to be a part of the business, you’ve never had any real interest in it, but I want you to give it a real shot.” He exhales carefully. “If, after the business trip, you still have no interest in running Queen Consolidated, I will never bring it up again and you can attend culinary school with our full support.”

Oliver writes Felicity and tells her the news. He warns Felicity in the letter that he might be out of contact for a while when he’s in China. She writes him one last letter that tells him at least ten to times to stay safe and that he better write her back _as soon as you possibly can, Oliver! Talk to you soon, All my love, Felicity._

(Oliver takes that letter with him to China.)

(Five years later, when he’s finally rescued, the faded pink paper is folded up in his pocket.)

He promises to buy her a souvenir and that he’ll miss her while he’s away. She doesn’t write back, at least not before he leaves for China. It’s the night before he leaves and he’s out with Tommy when he admits that he’s in love with Felicity.

“You don’t even know what she looks like, Buddy,” Tommy points out, but Oliver really doesn’t care, because he knows everything else about Felicity, and he thinks she might be the most remarkable person in the world. Tommy shakes his head, then goes on to rib him a little, but he has a genuine smile on his face when he says, “I’m happy for you, Ollie. Now, when you get home from China, tell _her_ how you feel. Then get the girl.”

Oliver laughs but then he runs into Sara Lance, whose blue eyes sparkle with mischief and mirth when she squeezes his bicep and says that she’s missed him and all the fun they used to have. “I don’t blame you for what happened with you and Laurel,” She shrugs when he asks why she’s being so _nice_ to him, “But, c’mon, let me buy you a drink. We’re still friends, right?”

He’s always had more in common with Sara than Laurel (admittedly, in the corners of his own mind, he’d often thought how much simpler his life would have been if he’d noticed _Sara_ first instead of Laurel), but two drinks turn into ten and before he knows it he’s taking Sara home with him. It’s fun and easy and, still a little drunk, Oliver invites Sara with him on the Queen’s Gambit. She’s eager to agree and he stupidly sneaks her onto the yacht.

But then there’s a storm, Sara’s pulled into the sea, and his father pulls him into the lifeboat before apologizing for not being the man Oliver thought he was before putting a gun to his head. “You can survive this,” Robert tells him, “Make it home, make it better, right my wrongs; but you got to live through this first… You hear me, son? Survive.”

When Oliver makes it home five years later (he’s someone else, _something_ else, because the boy he once was never died on Lian Yu) his mother cries in his hospital room and clutches him so tightly he can barely breathe. Thea, no longer the little girl that lives on in his memories, pulls him into a hug too, tears glistening in her eyes.

“What’d I tell ya…? Yacht’s  _suck_.”

Oliver feels a faint smirk tug at his mouth and he relaxes, laughing under his breath when he turns to face Tommy, who in return beams at him as he advances for a hug. “Tommy Merlyn,” He murmurs, voice warm with affection, as they pat each other on the back as they embrace.

“I _missed_ you, Buddy,” Tommy tells him.

Their reunion is followed by the worst family dinner _ever_ , he learns his mother is remarried, and then he visits Laurel. “I’m sorry too,” she snarls when he apologizes for what happened to Sara, walking away from him, “I’d hoped you’d rot in hell a whole lot longer than five years.”

His whole family seems to walk on egg shells around him after he’s kidnapped alongside Tommy. Thea asks him how he feels every five minutes, their mother insists that he take all the time he needs but _maybe we should find you someone to talk to, dear_ and the sharp refusal bursts from his mouth before his mother has finished talking. Oliver _had_ someone to talk to and he _really_ misses Felicity. He never met her, never even saw a picture of her, but he has all her letters, including the one that was in his pocket the day his life went to hell, and he reads them over and over again.

Thea walks into his room one day without knocking and sees his scars and tries to convince Oliver to _talk to her_.

Oliver shouts at her, furiously telling him _I don’t want to talk about it_ , and he sees the glimmer of tears in her eyes before she storms away. He feels like an _ass_ , but then his sister is back, throwing letters at his head, and his heart nearly stops when he sees the familiar messy writing. “The first one arrived a week after you left,” Thea tells him over the pounding in his ears, “And they continued until you were officially pronounced dead. I shouldn’t have, but I read them.” Thea licks her lips, looking down at her feet. “It made me feel closer to you somehow. I’d read them and then sometimes, I’d ask you, beg you, to find your way home to us. Now here you are. And the truth is, I felt closer to you when you were _dead_ , Ollie.”

Oliver’s hand trembles where he holds the letters.

“I get that it was hell where you were, but it was hell here too. You need to let me in, Ollie, you need to let _someone_ in,” She insists, staring down at opened letters before she steps closer, putting her hand on his arm.  “Maybe you should start with Felicity,” She suggests, then she leaves the room quietly, shutting his door behind her.

His hand shaking, Oliver opens the first letter. Just the sight of her handwriting on the familiar pink stationary warms his heart. But his smile quickly falls as his heart constricts in his chest. He reads slowly, careful to take in each of her words.

_Oliver,_

_Today feels like the hardest days of my life._

_I was studying at my favorite coffee shop when it was announced on the news that the Queen’s Gambit was lost at sea, and suddenly everything was wrong in my world. You have to be alive. You have to come back to me because I don’t know how to live in a world without you in it. You promised it would just be a few weeks and then you’d be back with a truly cringe-worthy souvenir for me. You’re my best friend, Oliver. I have to believe that someday this will all be okay._

_Your Felicity_

Oliver lets himself fall on his bed. He can’t breathe anymore. He stares at the letters in his hands, at Felicity’s words, and feels like someone has a deathly grip on his heart, crushing it until there’s nothing left but broken pieces. He’s really misses Felicity. He’d loved her, he still _does_ , and he finds himself yearning to have her back in his life. She always wanted to listen to what he had to say, she always understood him and wanted to share her life with him, too, and she understood him in a way his family never did.

Taking a deep breath, he moves onto the next letter.

_Oliver,_

_When you left for China six weeks ago, I never thought it could be the last time I received one of your letters._

_I didn’t expect this to be easy, but I didn’t think I would be this hard. Maybe if I had known, I would have had the courage to say all the words that I left unspoken. Do you remember that time when I told you about how much it hurt to lose my father when he left? I’d lost the one person in my life that understood me and just the thought of losing someone else that important to me terrified me._

_You said that I wasn’t going to lose you, too._

_But you lied because you’re not here._

_You got in my heart and I hate you for that._

_Felicity_

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until his tears dot the paper, smearing her words.

Barbed-wire wraps around his chest, and he starts to read the final letter.

_Oliver,_

_I don’t know how to begin this letter. I don’t even know if I should be writing this letter to you – maybe it’s better for my sake if I try to forget you ever existed. I want to hate you, Oliver. I’ve really tried to hate you for making me care this much, but I can’t hate you, I just can’t._

_I love you, Oliver._

_All my love,_

_Felicity_

His thoughts swirl around in his mind as he stares at the three letters in his hands. All her words have imprinted themselves on his heart; they have woken up the very core of his being, infiltrated every ounce of his body. He’s moving to his desk before he realizes what he’s doing, scrambling for a pen a piece of paper, and he starts to write a letter to Felicity.

He thinks maybe it’ll make him feel better. He writes her letter after letter, but he doesn’t send any of them. He doesn’t know how to reach Felicity, wouldn’t even know where to begin to look, but it doesn’t matter. He isn’t the man that Felicity knew. He’s a cold-hearted monster that can’t see _people_ , only sees targets and threats, and Felicity deserves better than that, deserves better than some scarred, messed up guy like him.

Autumn arrives in Starling City and he’s been home a little over three weeks. Oliver’s crouched in front of the headstone for Robert Queen, brushing the dead leaves from the top of his before trailing his fingertips over the carved letters, when he hears leaves crunching under the heels of two pairs of boots before his mother speaks. “Oliver, darling,” Moira says gently, “Someone’s here to see you.”

“Who?” He asks, not turning around.

“Felicity,” a new voice says, “Felicity Smoak.”

Oliver whips around at the sound of her voice and drinks in the sight of her. She walks a little closer, and he only stares at him in shock. She has to be a foot shorter than him, and she has her curly blonde hair pulled into a low ponytail. Her eyes are bright and pretty, highlighted by two-toned glasses that she nervously pushes up her nose, and she’s wearing panda flats and a dress that’s hidden by a plum colored trench coat.

Moira reaches out to squeeze Felicity’s arm, offering a small smile, and quietly walks back to the house.

Oliver can’t take his eyes off her, and then she starts to talk. “It took me a little while to work up the nerve,” Felicity admits, “But I eventually contacted your mother. I mean, it wasn’t overly hard, I work at Queen Consolidated. In the IT-Department. Mrs. Queen—Mrs. Steele? Queen-Steele? Does she hyphenate? She seems like the kind of woman that would hyphenate.” Nervous laughter tumbles from a bright pink mouth. “Whatever, that doesn’t matter, your mother told me to give you a little time, but I couldn’t wait any longer because I… because I really wanted to see you. I – I’ve missed you. I’ve missed your letters…” She trails off, nervously reaching up to fiddle with her ponytail.

He wants to tell he missed her, too.

But he doesn’t know how to.

“Look, I don’t want to overwhelm you,” Felicity finally says, staring down at her aqua colored nails. “But I… I just… I guess I just really wanted to see you,” she goes on quietly, tears in her eyes, “to see how you are.” She’s spent the last five years wishing for him to be alive, each passing day smothering all hope, trying to keep a tiny ember of father alive even when everyone around told her it was time to move on.

Felicity’s wearing large feather earrings, Oliver notices suddenly, and for some reason that makes his heart squeeze a little and he can’t believe this girl is ever real. “I’m okay,” He lies and he thinks she knows it’s a lie based on the way she folds her mouth together and he adds, “As okay as I can be, at least.”

“Yeah,” She exhales in relief and then she’s standing in front of him, hesitantly resting a hand on his shoulder to balance herself as she stretches to place a soft kiss on his face. She lets her lips linger there, and his breath catches. “I live in Starling, so if you want to maybe spend some time together, today or tomorrow or sometime soon, I guess,” She offers him a hesitate smile, “Then I’d really like that.”

She draws back finally, but he still can’t really breathe at all. “I’ll go now,” She laughs a little, tears in her eyes as she stars to talk away, but she looks back at him when she’s halfway to the wooden footbridge that spans the pond. “Those years we wrote letters back and forth, I kind of fell in love with you,” Felicity admits. “And I know that probably sounds crazy, because we’d never even met before today, but it’s the truth.” She smiles gently again, “I just… I just wanted you to know.”

Oliver stands there for a minute, stunned, because _I kind of fell in love with you_ , then he scrambles after her. “Wait, Felicity!” He catches up with her in the gardens of the estate and she gazes up at him with those large blue eyes and he wants to kiss her. “I want you to – I mean, you should – I kind of fell in love with you, too,” Oliver says, sounding like an idiot.

He stares down at her, his gaze falling to her lips, and she blushes. “Yeah?” Felicity whispers, biting her lip, her eyes still on his.

“Yeah,” He says, nodding, and he’s dreamed of being face to face with her since he was eighteen and it’s impossible for him not to kiss her. Her eyes widen when he leans in and she opens her mouth to protest, but he doesn’t give her the chance. The kiss is quick, and he leans back, waiting for a reaction, and then he smiles when she launches herself at him. His hands cup her face and her head tilts back with the kiss, her tongue slides across hers, and she blinks, dazed, when he leans back to smile at her.

He has no idea what to do in the moments that follow, and she laughs a little, but then suddenly she has her arms around him and her face pressed to his chest, and he returns the hug. His arms come around her, sliding around her waist and up her back, and his stubble brushes her cheek before grazing her collarbone when his chin comes to rest in the crook of her neck. “Felicity,” He murmurs into her neck, feeling her shiver, “Would you like to have dinner with me?”

“Are you asking me out on a date? Like an actual date? Like a _date-date_ ,” She clarifies like a dork.

“Su _—_ I mean, the implication being with dinner that you,” Oliver trips over his words, and she leans back, her eyes widening _._

“Usually I’m the one talking in sentence fragments,” Felicity points out, unable to stop her smile.

“Would you like to go to dinner with me?” Oliver asks again, this time more confident.

Felicity can’t help the smirk that tugs at her pink lips when she nods, murmuring, “Yeah, I think you’ve kept me waiting long enough. Do you like Italian?” She asks. “Everyone likes Italian.”

Oliver’s smile softens around the edges and he laughs, nodding, “I love Italian.”


End file.
